


Work Appropiate? Part Two

by ThatComicGirl52



Series: Monthly Oneshots [10]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, I, M/M, Monthly oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-21 02:45:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16150907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatComicGirl52/pseuds/ThatComicGirl52
Summary: “Okay, I’ll admit it, I’ve fallen for Bruce Wayne’s charms. He’s won, and I’ll happily surrender to him now.“





	Work Appropiate? Part Two

**Author's Note:**

> This is my monthly oneshot for October. Thank you so much to Do_The_Cool_Whip, who without her, this oneshot would not exist. This was the oneshot pairing that was voted for this previous month on my monthly oneshot poll. To find out how you can take part in my poll, and have access to more exciting things having to do with my fanfiction, check out my tumblr at thatcomicgirl52.tumblr.com.  
> This fic takes place in a different universe then my fanficiton, Million Reasons To Leave.  
> Also, I apologize beforehand. When I set out to write this second part, I imagined it going differently, but realized while writing it that there was more of the story to tell first. Let me know if you guys want a part three or not. That will be the end of this short little story, I swear.

As soon as we enter the restaurant, I realize I'm way out of my league. It's the kind of restaurant I would never go to. One, because I can't afford it, and two, because I could never justify spending that kind of money on food.  No matter how good it is. I mean, I was raised in a traveling circus. My parents could barely afford a can of chili every night for dinner. When you grow up that way, you learn to be frugal.

I feel uncomfortable, because I know I don't belong here. Soft classical musical plays, as men and women dressed in designer clothes sit across from each other at white tablecloth draped tables. Waiters and waitresses dressed in black button downs refill their wine glasses, the white and red wine swishing around in the sparkling glass. I hear the loud pop of someone opening a new, expensive bottle. 

I glance over at Bruce, but he seems unfazed by everything. He's probably used to going to places like this. These are probably the only types of places he goes to. He probably doesn't even realize that things like diners and fast food restaurants even exist.

The host recognizes Bruce right away, plastering on the largest smile I've ever seen on a man. I'm surprised his face doesn’t break in half, his grin is so wide.

“Your usual table, Mr. Wayne?” The host asks, gathering up menus. 

“Thanks, Kevin,” Bruce says with a nod. The host’s smile widens even more when Bruce uses his name, before leading us to the back of the restaurant to a more secluded table. 

I know that he's Bruce Wayne and he's a billionaire and everything, but I still can't help but be impressed by all of this. 

“I'm guessing you’re a regular here?” I ask after the host has left us with our menus and ice waters. Bruce shrugs before picking up his menu. 

“I come here often enough, I suppose,” is his only response. I watch him, confused, as his eyes scan the menu. His answer was quite vague and a little standoffish. I'm hoping he doesn't act like that for the rest of our lunch. 

“They have fantastic steak here. You should order it,” he says, his eyes still on his menu. I nod, as I glance over the menu without actually reading it. I’m starting to regret accepting this lunch invitation at all.

Our waiter comes back with a bottle of sparkling champagne, Bruce nodding approvingly when he pours it into our glasses. I watch him, surprised and confused. Did we order champagne? I don’t remember Bruce asking for any.

“One of our best bottles, Mr. Wayne,” the waiter says with a smile. “Are you two ready to order or do you need more time?”

“I am. Are you, Dick?” Bruce asks, his blue eyes settling back on me. My heart hammers against my chest under his gaze, and I remember why I agreed to go out with him in the first place. Bruce Wayne might be coming off as a little rude, but he sure as hell is gorgeous.

“Uh, sure,” I say half heartedly, because I’ve barely even glanced at the menu, but I don’t want to hold Bruce up if he’s ready. 

Bruce orders himself the steak, and then looks at me. I know he’s expecting me to order the same, but I’m not going to do something just because he told me to. I like steak, sure, but that doesn’t mean I’m in the mood for it.

I order one of the first pasta dishes my eyes land on, and Bruce looks surprised, but not angry. He almost looks impressed that I didn’t take his recommendation. I’m sure he’s used to everyone doing exactly what he tells them to do, just because of his name and fortune. 

“I like a man who knows what he wants,” Bruce says with a half smile, after the waiter leaves. I feel my face go hot at his words. I don't know what to say to that. Again, Bruce Wayne has made a mess of me without even trying to.

“So Dick, what's your story? Why is a man as beautiful as you working for a company as boring as mine?” Bruce asks. I can't help but smile at his compliment. I'll admit it; Bruce Wayne is charming, and he does know how to say the right thing when he wants to. But charm and witty banter can only get a guy so far.

“My friend and I just moved to Gotham a few months ago. I was desperate for a job, and I took the first one I could get. I'm just lucky I'm not waiting tables somewhere or working as a cashier at a drugstore,” I explain. I clear my throat, because I'm so nervous. I mean, I've dated enough times before to know how this works, but never a billionaire. It’s a different thing entirely. I feel like there should be a rule book that comes with it.

“Where are you from originally?” Bruce asks, his eyes not wavering from mine for a second. It's intense, a stark contrast to when he was ignoring me before. I like it. I like having all of his attention. It makes me feel important. I haven’t felt important since leaving the circus, especially at work.

“Nowhere. Everywhere,” I respond, with a sly smile. Bruce’s forehead crinkles in confusion, and he leans in more, because I’ve said something interesting. He’s intrigued. Good. “I grew up in the circus.”

His eyes light up and widen, and he pulls back with a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He’s both surprised and impressed. 

“Circus, huh? I’m guessing you weren’t one of the clowns,” he answers with a grin, looking over my body again. I’m getting used to him doing that, and I don’t mind it. Honestly, I find it flattering that he keeps checking me out. “An acrobat, am I right?”

My heart skips a beat at his accurate detection. I grin at Bruce, and I can just feel myself glowing. He knew I was an acrobat right away. He could just tell. I don’t know why, but that makes me feel good. It means he’s studying me, he’s attentive.

Based on first impressions, I wouldn’t consider him the observant type, but I’m glad he’s proving me wrong. It means he’s not who he appears to be.

“Yeah, my parents and I were known as ‘The Flying Graysons’. We were the star performers,” I explain, smiling at the memory of me flying through the air with the two people I loved most in the world. There’s no other feeling in the world that compares to that.

“I like how humble you are,” Bruce says, his tone light and humorous. The joke is so unexpected, that I can’t help but laugh a little. The mood between us is easy and laid back, but I can feel the change in air like ice water dribbling down my back with his next question. The one question I hate more than anything else. 

His tone changes, softer and more understanding, “Dick, what happened to your parents?”

I press my lips together and look away, preferring to study the tablecloth instead. I don’t know how he knew something had happened to them in the first place. For all he knows, they could still be alive and well, wearing sparkling spandex every night in front of crowds of cheering people. But somehow, for some reason, Bruce Wayne knows that’s not the case. He knows something happened to them, and maybe he knows that because he suspects that I wouldn’t be living in Gotham City otherwise.

I know I have to answer him. I know it’s rude not to, but even after all these years, it’s still hard to talk about their deaths. I suspect that it will never not be.

After a long and miserable silence, Bruce finally speaks. His tone is so quiet, so low, I have to lean in closer to hear him.

“I lost my parents too. I was eight.”

I look up at him in surprise, my lips parting. I didn’t expect him to say that. I expected anything but that. I had heard from someone at Wayne Enterprises that Bruce Wayne was an orphan, but that was as much as I knew about it.

Honestly, I’m shocked that he shared that information with me at all. I heard it’s something Bruce Wayne doesn’t like to talk about. 

“I was nine,” I finally say, my voice just as quiet as his now. My eyes flicker towards his for just a moment, and I’m taken back by the fervency of his gaze. It’s like he’s analyzing me, sizing me up. 

When Bruce Wayne was just a name to me, I didn’t think much of him. I thought he was a rich playboy who inherited a lot of money and a business he didn’t want to run. Now that I’ve met Bruce Wayne though, I realize there’s more to him than that. He’s smarter than I originally gave him credit for. He doesn’t say much, but I can tell that there’s more going on inside his head then he lets on. For some strange reason, he hides how intelligent he really is. I wonder why.

“I’m sorry. It’s hard,” is all Bruce says, and that’s all he needs to say. There’s not much else you can say to someone when they’ve lost their parents. Nothing you can say will ever ease the pain. Nothing you can say will bring that person the comfort they really need and desire. But it helps to have someone who understands, someone who has been through the same hell as you have and survived. There’s a comfort in that.

Fortunately, the waiter chooses that moment to bring our food out. I’m grateful for the distraction. I didn’t expect our conversation to become so grim and depressing. I didn’t think someone like Bruce Wayne would let a lunch date get so sullen.

I thought Bruce would be all too easy to figure out, but I was wrong. Bruce Wayne is a mystery, and that excites me.

The rest of the meal goes by much better than I had expected it to. I find that the more I talk to Bruce, the more I like him. He tells me a little about his life, but doesn’t go into too much detail. It’s almost like he’s trying to keep things hidden. He’s subtle about it, but it’s nothing I don’t pick up on. He tells me just enough. Nothing more.

Bruce talks about his butler, Alfred, who raised him after his parents died. He tells me about the parties he attends every weekend, and how when he was in his early twenties, he tried to take a more active role in his company, but found that he was no good at it. That’s when he hired Lucius Fox to run things.

That’s all that Bruce lets on, and he lets me talk for the rest of our lunch. I tell him about how the circus closed down just a few years ago, and how me my long time friend, Garfield, and I got an apartment together in Gotham after that. Like me, Garfield also grew up in the circus. He was part of the freak show, entertaining ogling eyes with his green skin and his ability to transform into any animal of his choosing. 

Anyone else would hate the idea of being known as a freak, but not Garfield. He loves the attention. He’s always made the best of any situation, which is something I admire about him.

When the waiter asks us if we’d like any dessert or coffee, Bruce turns to me with a raised brow. He’s letting me decide. I purse my lips, because I don’t want our lunch date to end, but I also don’t want to delay the business meeting any further then we already have. 

I check the time on my phone, and I’m surprised that we’ve been sitting here for over an hour, just talking. Our plates are empty and the bottle of champagne is almost entirely gone. I do feel a little buzzed, now that that I'm thinking about it. 

I can just imagine the boardroom now, everyone sitting around the table, furiously wondering where Bruce Wayne is. I feel bad having kept him here as long as I have.

“No, I think we’re good. The check will be fine,” Bruce tells our waiter once he realizes that I can’t make up my mind. I look down at the table, trying to hide my disappointment. I’ll admit it, I’ve enjoyed my time with Bruce much more than I thought I would. I want to see him again, but Bruce might not feel the same way.

But then he reaches for my hand resting on the table with a light touch. He rubs gentle circles against my palm, giving me goosebumps. 

My heart stops when my eyes meet his. His eyes don’t waver, his gaze dark and heated. Bruce gives me a sly smile, and I can tell by the way he’s looking at me, that he’s only thinking about one thing right now. And it’s not about the business meeting he has to get back to. 

I swallow and lick my lips in anticipation. Okay, I’ll admit it, I’ve fallen for Bruce Wayne’s charms. He’s won, and I’ll happily surrender to him now. 

**Author's Note:**

> So what do you think? Does it need a part three or not?


End file.
